


falling

by to_the_stars_who_listen



Category: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/to_the_stars_who_listen/pseuds/to_the_stars_who_listen
Summary: Sophie gets an impromtu tour of Keefe's painting shed. Fun shippy things ensue. Lots of fluff. Sophie has a mental breakdown.
Relationships: Sophie Foster/Keefe Sencen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	falling

**Author's Note:**

> The AO3 hijinks continue as I mass post everything I have finished onto here. This fic might have the potential for more parts, but I have to write them first. Let me know in the comments if you guys would be interested in that!

Sophie knocked gently on the door of the shed, shivering slightly in the rain. Ro had said Keefe would be out here, painting .  
“Ro, I already told you, if my dad wants me to come in, I'm staying out here!”  
She laughed. “It's Sophie.”  
A distinct crash, followed by the unmistakable sound of several things bumping across the floor, sounded from inside. “Sophie?” Keefe appeared at the door, clothes and hair and face scattered liberally with paint. He ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it further and adding a few more streaks of white. “What are you — how did you know I was out here?”  
Sophie laughed. “Ro told me.” She reached for an eyelash, but stopped herself, wrapping her fingers around her wrist instead. “I can leave if you're too busy.”  
“Never too busy for you, Foster,” he said with a wink, opening the door further. “Hope you don't mind the mess.”  
“Not at all.” Sophie stepped in and gasped, gazing around the room. Gray light filtered in through the west-facing windows, and glowing orbs of light filled the room with golden warmth. Paintings in various stages of completion covered the walls and the array of easels. Some were stacked on the floor. Drops of paint scattered the walls, the floor, the windows. “Keefe, this is . . .”  
“A disaster, I know.” He ruffled his hair again. “I didn't know you were coming, otherwise I would have cleaned up.”  
“No, this is . . . amazing, Keefe.” She turned from studying the nearest painting, a portrait of a laughing Biana that could have been a photograph. “You're an amazing artist, you know that?”  
Keefe rubbed the back of his neck, coming to stand beside her. “Eh, I'm okay, I guess.”  
Sophie laughed, incredulous. “Are you kidding?” Look at this —” she gestured to another painting, this one of the ocean and the cliffs at Havenfield. “I feel like I'm looking through a window at it.”  
“Aw, stop it, Foster, you're making me blush.” A dusting of pink was indeed spreading across his cheeks, but she didn't mention it. As she walked around the room, she began to notice a pattern.  
At least half of the paintings were of her. Her with the alicorns, in the dress she had worn to Alvar's Tribunal, her in profile against a stormy sea, a determined glint in her eye. She stopped at one of her laughing, hair falling across her face as she tried to push it back. “Keefe, these are stunning,” she said softly, voice catching a little. She turned to find him standing behind her, blush deepening to red.  
“I — um.” He cleared his throat. “I like painting you happy. It's — it's been a while since you smiled like that,” he said, tilting his head toward the painting.  
“I guess it has.” Sophie rubbed her hand over her arm.  
Keefe stepped toward her, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay? You seem — sad. Stressed. Worried.”  
“I — yeah. I just — I'm fine.” She ducked her head, willing Keefe not to notice the tears springing up in her eyes.  
He moved closer, close enough to reach out and touch her arm. “I know that's a lie,” he said gently, bending down so she had no choice but to make eye contact with him. She tilted her head up, looking him straight in the eyes. His were so full of concern for her, concern and something else she couldn't quite place. “You can trust me, you know,” he said softly, and she was undone. Sophie let herself move forward, let herself wrap her arms around Keefe as she sobbed.  
“It's just so hard,” she cried, as he held her close. “Everyone's expecting me to be this responsible, capable person, expects me to be the moonlark, to save the world.” She sank to the floor, and he sank with her, still holding her, letting her fall apart but keeping her together.  
“I don't know if I can.” She sobbed into Keefe's chest, his tunic soaking up her tears. “All of you have scars because of me — Dex, Biana, you, even — even Fitz has the echoes.” He held her tighter.  
“I'm so scared,” she whispered. “So scared that one of you is going to die.” Her voice, almost inaudible, broke on the last word, and a violent sob ripped out of her.  
“Shh, it's okay, hey, it's going to be okay,” Keefe murmured, rubbing a hand in circles across her back. “No one's died yet.”  
“You almost did!” She cried, tipping her head back to look at him, tears streaming down her face. “King Dimitar almost gutted you!”  
“Yeah, but he didn't, and I have the earring to prove it.”  
“But he was so close. Too close. I can't — I can't lose you, Keefe.”  
His breath caught in his throat. “You don't have to, Foster,” he said, gently wiping her tears away with the pad of his thumb, suddenly aware of how very close they were. “I will always, always be here for you. Whenever you need me.” He smiled softly, feeling her raging storm emotions, so strong at such a close distance, settle. They were still there, but for now they would remain under the surface, weaker than before. “I promise.”  
She sniffled, wrapping her arms tighter around him. Looking up at him, her breath caught at the intensity in those ice blue eyes. “I — I'm here for you too. Always.” Her voice was soft, but no less intense for its softness. “You don't have to do this alone.”  
“Neither do you.” He gazed down at her, eyes that were like the sunshine on a stormy day and the earth rejoicing in the rain filling him with warmth. Sophie ducked her head, then looked up at him with determination. Before he could say anything, she

was 

kissing

him

and it was sunshine and starlight and hope. He kissed her back, hardly daring to believe — to hope — that this was happening as he carefully, cautiously tangled his fingers in her hair as her own tangled in his. The emotions crashing through her matched his own — excitement, fear, hope, unbelievable, dizzying hope and — he gasped.

Love.

She loved him.

They broke apart, staring wildly at each other, neither knowing what to say.

Sophie was the first to break the silence. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, I understand if —” she began to get up, to leave, when he wrapped his fingers around her wrist.  
“No, wait,” he whispered. “Don't go.”  
She turned back to him, and the hope radiating from her gave him the courage to go on. “I — Sophie, please stay. You — I can't — Sophie, I — “ Keefe shook his head, unable to get the words out. “Look around,” he said instead. “Do you see how many times I've painted you? I can't — I haven't been able to get you out of my head, not since we met. You're so brave, so kind, so utterly willing to give everything and anything.” He tore a hand through his hair. “I don't deserve you, not even a little, but I will die trying if I have to.”  
Sophie reached up and touched his wrist, twining her fingers through his. “Hey,” she said softly. “You don't have to.”  
“What?” he gasped, unsure of what she meant.  
“You don't have to die trying to deserve me. In fact, please, please don't.” She smiled at him. “You don't have to do anything to deserve me.”  
“But I —” she held her finger to his lips, silencing him.  
“You are so strong, and loyal, and brave, Keefe, even though I know you don't see it.” She smiled at him, and in that moment she was the most beautiful thing to ever grace the earth. She brushed her lips against his, just for a moment, but he was left breathless as he brushed her hair out of her eyes.  
“I — I don't know what to say,” he whispered. “Are you kidding? Is this some elaborate prank?”  
She laughed a little. “You can feel my emotions, can't you? You tell me.”  
He closed his eyes, focusing on the waves of emotion rippling off of her. “You're not lying,” he murmured, opening his eyes in shock. “You really — you really mean it?”  
“Of course I do.” She gazed up at him, determination blazing in her eyes. “I love you, Keefe Sencen.”  
“You — I — Sophie —” and this time he was kissing her, showing her what words could not express for him. They separated, but only barely, and he leaned his forehead against hers. “I love you, far more than I can say, Sophie.”  
She said nothing, simply leaning down and resting her head against his shoulder.  
And they stayed like that, listening to the rain and feeling their heartbeats fall into sync, and all was right in the world in that moment.


End file.
